e existence as the plaything of a rough cobbler and
his wife.

Just beneath its frowning bastions Chauvelin turned back towards Armand.
He pointed with a careless hand up-wards to the central tower.

"We have got little Capet in there," he said dryly. "Your chivalrous
Scarlet Pimpernel has not ventured in these precincts yet, you see."

Armand was silent. He had no difficulty in looking unconcerned; his
thoughts were so full of Jeanne that he cared but little at this moment
for any Bourbon king or for the destinies of France.

Now the two men reached the postern gate. A couple of sentinels were
standing by, but the gate itself was open, and from within there came
the sound of bustle and of noise, of a good deal of swearing, and also
of loud laughter.

The guard-room gave on the left of the gate, and the laughter came from
there. It was brilliantly lighted, and Armand, peering in, in the wake
of Chauvelin, could see groups of soldiers sitting and standing about.
There was a table in the centre of the room, and on it a number of jugs
and pewter mugs, packets of cards, and overturned boxes of dice.

But the bustle did not come from the guard-room; it came from the
landing and the stone stairs beyond.

Chauvelin, apparently curious, had passed through the gate, and Armand
followed him. The light from the open door of the guard-room cut sharply
across the landing, making the gloom beyond appear more dense and
almost solid. From out the darkness, fitfully intersected by a lanthorn
apparently carried to and fro, moving figures loomed out ghost-like and
weirdly gigantic. Soon Armand distinguished a number of large objects
that encumbered the landing, and as he and Chauvelin left the sharp
light of the guard-room 'behind them, he could see that the large
objects were pieces of furniture of every shape and size; a wooden
bedstead--dismantled--leaned against the wall, a black horsehair sofa
blocked the way to the tower stairs, and there were numberless chairs
and several tables piled one on the top of the other.

In the midst of this litter a stout, flabby-cheeked man stood,
apparently giving directions as to its removal to persons at present
unseen.

"Hola, Papa Simon!" exclaimed Chauvelin jovially; "moving out to-day?
What?"

"Yes, thank the Lord!--if there be a Lord!" retorted the other curtly.
"Is that you, citizen Chauvelin?"

"In person, citizen. I did not know you were leaving quite so soon. Is
citizen Heron a